The Book Thief 》Hemmings A.U

9.00

     "AN OLD PEOPLE DANCE PARTY?" Luke repeats slowly, eyebrows knitting together.

     "The elderly probably don't get to have any fun here and you saw how happy that woman was when she thought she was going to dance," I explain, hoping he'll agree. I hated that we were doing everything by him, that he always had to have the final say. I didn't like being controlled but with him having my entry, I had no choice.

     "How?" He says after a few seconds, seeming slightly interested in my idea.

      "Come on," I grin, pushing my father's adultery to the back of my mind as I snake my fingers around Luke's wrist. He is much taller and stronger than I am, but he still trots alongside me as I skip through the corridors. We reach the ballroom and Luke bites his lip, his blue eyes flickering down to his wrist. "Oh, sorry," I mumble, dropping his hand immediately and casting my gaze across the room. The woman from earlier is huffing and puffing, head jammed into a tiny door frame as she shimmy's further through it.

     "Uhm, do you need help?" Luke calls, nose scrunching as he slowly steps forward and scratches the back of his neck.

     "Milkman, hello. Did you go get David?" She drawls, yanking at the object of her attention.

      "I thought I was David," He turns around and whisper yells to me, frowning.

      "I think she might have Alzheimer's," I reply quietly, seeing her giggle like a schoolgirl once she gets her hands on whatever was behind the door. It's a dress, long and silver and made out of a material that looks like the kind of silk that slips through your finger tips.

     "They told us to bring dresses but...we never put them to use," The woman says quietly, looking down sadly at her dress. "I miss him. I miss David."

     "What's your name, mam?" I offer, forcing myself to smile because she looks so sad and I cannot bare it. If there was one thing I hated, it was seeing people upset. No matter how cruel they were, no one deserved to hurt. It was pointless and so terribly unfortunate that some people sought satisfaction in making others suffer. I didn't want to contribute to that.

      "Rosanne." She mumbles, frowning.

     "Well Rosanne, are there any other dresses in there?"

      "Plenty of them," Her frown fades slightly, a ghost of a grin taking it's place instead as she runs her wrinkled fingers over the fabric slung over her arm.

     "Maybe we could wake up your friends?" Luke offers, giving me a small, closed lip smile. "I have more booze," He mouths, eyes twinkling. "Forgot I had some under the seats. I'll go get it for you,"

     "It's okay, actually. I feel like I'll throw up if I ingest anything else." I tell him quickly, following Rosanne as she guides me inside of the closet she was within seconds earlier.

     "Gotcha, Cohen. I'll go wake up some of the patients so that this dance party can commence,"

     "Seriously?" I inquire, grinning as Rosanne dumps a pile of dresses into my arms.

     "As long as you wear the ugliest dress I find you," He giggles, covering his mouth to muffle the sound.

     "Whatever," I shake my head, laughing. "Let's get you into your dress Rosanne,"

✉✉✉

     Much to my displeasure, I ended up wearing a dress that hugged my ankles and had bright orange ruffles rimmed with glitter from head to toe. It was more of a pantsuit than anything, but whatever it identified as, it was itchy and gaudy and an absolute terror to wear.